Impact and Convergences
by kalirush
Summary: A masked shooter walks into a classroom at CalSci and guns down a mathematics professor. Don will move heaven and earth to find the one who did it.
1. Impact

**A/N: I have no excuse for this story. Hopefully, someone will enjoy it anyhow.**

Charlie looked up at his class. They stretched above him in the auditorium, playing with their pens and doodling on paper and staring at the clock, waiting for class to end. Some, though, were watching with interest. That was heartening. Charlie cleared his throat, smiling shyly. "It's like bumper cars," he said, his eyes glazing over a little with the effort of translating his internal vision into something undergraduates could understand. "There's a defined area in which each car can move, and as they move, they interact with each other. They hit into each other, they touch, and they transfer kinetic energy. With the equations-"

But the class wasn't going to find out what bumper cars had to do with the math of fluid dynamics. The gunshots were shockingly loud in the enclosed space, the sound bouncing around the walls despite the blocks of sound-absorbing cloth. Charlie's body jerked as the bullets hit into him, and red blood bloomed on the white fabric of his shirt. Charlie looked up, confusion clear on his face. He staggered back one step, and fell.

The classroom erupted into chaos.

* * *

Charlie had seen the figure in the gray hoodie come into his class. The newcomer was hunched over- hands in pockets, face obscured below the hood. They'd slipped into the back row, and he'd thought nothing more of it. He had something like 80 students in his Beginning Applied Mathematics course, and he didn't even try to know them all. 

He'd noticed, idly, that the newcomer in the hoodie was getting up in the middle of his lecture. He always found that irritating, but really, if students were going to skip class it was on their own heads. They were mostly at least nominally adults, and they'd soon figure out on their own that skipping class was a bad idea.

He was no longer paying attention when the hooded figure moved to the top of the aisle and leveled a gun at him. His mind's eye was filled with bumper cars and the equations of kinetic transfer. Those glimpses of the mathematical workings of the world had always been more compelling to Charlie than whatever mundane input his eyes had to offer.

And then something hit him, and hit him again. It felt like being hit with a sledgehammer (or what he imagined being hit with a sledgehammer might feel like), and Charlie was suddenly paying attention again. The figure at the top of the room was still standing there, head up, face covered with a mask. As he watched, whoever it was turned, and ran. Charlie didn't process the image of the hand holding the gun until it was already gone.

He stumbled, and fell. His chest _burned_- it shouldn't burn, should it? And there was blood. This disturbed him, though he wasn't sure why. It couldn't possibly be his blood. Charlie reached for his phone.

* * *

Don sighed, and laid the papers on his desk. It was a quiet day- the first quiet day in some time, in fact. Quiet days were good, but they meant catching up on paperwork, which was just about Don's least favorite part of his job. He looked across the office at his team. 

Megan was- no surprise- sitting at her desk, working at her computer. Colby, his arm in a sling after getting his shoulder stabbed, was leaning against David's desk, smiling as David said something to him.

Don rubbed his face with his hands, and leaned back. The last one had been particularly ugly. Kidnapping cases were always bad, and this one had been no exception. It was a federal judge and her daughter, and it had taken most of a week to find them, even with Charlie's math magic leading the way. Colby and the judge had both been injured in the course of the rescue, and Don himself had ended up shooting the perpetrator. As a death in the field always did, it had meant no end of paperwork and review.

Don's cell phone rang. He put it to his ear without looking at it. "Don Eppes," he said, brusquely.

On the other end of the line, he heard a woman crying, and someone gasping, _"oh, my god, oh my god, oh my god…"_ Don tensed, unsure what to expect. Then he heard his brother's voice over the top of it.

_"Donnie?"_ Charlie said, his voice shaky.

"Charlie?" Don said, concerned. "What's going on there?"

_"Grey… ah- hoodie. And a mask. Sorry I don't know more, Donnie… Wasn't paying attention. So sorry."_ Charlie coughed, and Don could hear something liquid in it.

"What are you talking about, buddy? Are you okay?" Don stood up, headed for the door to his office.

_"Hurts. Help me, Don? It- it hurts a lot…"_ Charlie's voice faded to nothing at the end.

"Charlie? What hurts?" There was no answer. Don clutched the phone, his heart racing. "Charlie?" There was panic in his voice. Others in the office turned to look at him, concerned.

_"Doctor Eppes?" _a girl said, in the distance. _"Oh, my god, there's so much blood."_

_"He's not breathing,"_ a male voice put in. _"I'm going to-"_

Don pulled the phone away from his ear, unable to continue listening."Megan!" he said, tamping down his fear. "Is there any report from the police of something happening at CalSci?"

"CalSci?" she said, concerned. "Is there something going on with Charlie, Don?"

"I-" He bit down on _I don't know_, and _I think so_, and also_I'm afraid_. Don's face was as blank as he could make it. "Just check."

"David will check, and get us the info while we're en route," Megan said, nodding towards the door. She pursed her lips. "You can tell me what's going on while we drive."

Don nodded, his mouth set in a tight, thin line, and headed for the door.


	2. Revelation

Amita walked down the hall, running her hand idly over the strap of her laptop case. She was thinking about where she and Charlie were going for lunch, and about refinements of the algorithm they'd used in the Rheingold kidnapping, and about the work she was doing with Millie. She was so caught up in her own thoughts that it wasn't until she was almost to the door of Charlie's classroom that she noticed anything was wrong.

The door was open, for starters. Doors were usually kept closed while class was in session. Charlie's lecture shouldn't be over for another five or ten minutes, and he almost never ended class early. As she got closer, she heard urgent muttering, and what sounded strangely like someone crying. She noted that she did not hear the sound of Charlie talking animatedly about his math. Charlie- unlike some instructors- had a good sense of how to fill a room with his voice. With the door open, she ought to be able to hear him.

Alarmed, she poked her head into the room. Students were standing, milling around. A few were still sitting in their chairs, their heads in their hands. Her brain, unbidden, began tallying people against the likely enrollment of Charlie's class- as far as she could tell, they represented about a third of his students.

She walked into the room, trying to see if Charlie was around. She wondered idly if Don had called him away for an urgent case, and he'd had to dismiss his class. He should have called her to cancel lunch, but it was entirely like him to forget- especially if he was in the middle of an interesting or urgent problem.

It was sometimes strange to her that she knew Charles Eppes well enough to know what was "like him". When she'd found out that he was her faculty sponsor into the CalSci doctoral program, she'd examined his CV carefully. It had all the relevant information- where he'd studied, what he'd published. She'd been impressed, and a bit pleased with herself. The mind behind the Eppes Convergence was interested in her and her work!

Charlie's CV hadn't mentioned, however, that he'd been a teenager when he graduated Princeton, and that he was now only slightly older than she was. When she arrived at CalSci to meet him, she'd thought he'd sent a graduate student- albeit a very attractive grad student- to meet her instead of coming himself. She'd been disappointed. It wasn't until he'd smiled (shyly) at her, and introduced himself that she'd realized her mistake. Fortunately, it'd been before she'd had a chance to make a fool of herself. She smiled at the memory.

And then Amita stopped, her foot hovering above the next step down. She'd walked into the largest group of students, and they'd parted in front of her, giving her a clear view to the bottom of the auditorium.

Charlie, her Charlie, lay on the ground. His left leg was slightly crooked, and his arms were splayed out from his body, his hands lying, still, palm upward. She reflected that Charlie's hands were rarely still- they were usually writing, or running through his hair, or drumming on things, or typing, or-

She suddenly realized that she was thinking about his hands in order to avoid thinking about way the rest of his body. His chest, for example. His white shirt was soaked red with blood. One student was trying desperately to staunch the flow with a sweater, and another was on the other side, performing rescue breathing. Amita was particularly trying to avoid thinking about Charlie's too-pale face, and his closed eyes.

She found herself kneeling next to him, unsure how she'd gotten there.

"Doctor Ramanujan?" she heard someone ask.

She didn't respond. "Charlie?" she whispered, hoarsely, one hand held over her mouth in an unconscious gesture of horror. She reached out for Charlie's hand, closing it gently in her own.

Behind her, she heard the paramedics enter the room.

* * *

Don was quiet as he drove. Megan, sitting in the passenger's seat, read it as suppressed terror. David had called them a few minutes earlier with a police report on a shooter at CalSci. The police hadn't had a chance to file a report from the scene yet, so it was mostly a collection of 911 calls made by terrified students. The details were different, but the story was the same: someone had walked into the classroom, taken aim at the instructor- a Dr. Eppes- fired multiple shots, and then disappeared. 

Don had taken the call, and he'd gone entirely silent when he heard the news. He'd turned pale, and his fists had been clenched and white-knuckled on the steering wheel. After the second time she heard David on the other end asking for some sort of response, she'd taken the phone away and gotten him to repeat his report to her. David had added that EMT's were on the scene now, and that Charlie would be taken to the university hospital. She'd told Don so. He'd nodded, and she'd gotten no other response from him since.

Arriving at the hospital, he parked, and swung the car door shut behind him. He didn't run, but he moved so quickly that Megan had a hard time keeping up. She finally decided to let him go on ahead.

It was only at that point that the reality of the situation hit her. She'd so focused herself on taking care of Don and dealing with the needs of the present that she hadn't had a chance to think about the fact that Charlie- smart, strange, little-brother Charlie- might well be dead. She suddenly felt very cold, and very tired.

* * *

He had to get to Charlie. Nothing else mattered. 

Don felt as though time had stopped, as though the world had stopped moving and would only begin to spin again when he knew precisely what had happened to his little brother. Once he knew, things would begin to happen again. Don knew he'd deal with them. But until he knew, one way or another, life or death- nothing else mattered.

He vaguely noticed that he was leaving Megan behind, but he didn't stop. He knew she'd be where she should be when she ought to be there. He trusted her to understand, and to back him if he needed her. In the meantime, he had to find out where Charlie was. He stalked into the hospital, looking for someone who could take him to his brother. That done, he began navigating the maze of rooms and wards.

He was walking into a waiting room- perhaps the correct one- when he came face to face with Amita and Larry. Larry was standing to one side of the room, staring out of a window, frowning, absently scratching the side of his face. Amita sat in one of the chairs, her laptop case sitting at her feet. She kept glancing over at the doors beyond the nurse's station, biting her lip.

She turned, and Don realized that he'd been standing there for a few moments now, staring. She jumped to her feet. "Don!" she said. "Oh. Did someone call you? I'm sorry, I should have thought- but I didn't- it just-" She ground to a halt, wrapping her arms around herself. She was shaking a little, and her eyes were red, even though he couldn't see tears on her face. It occurred to Don that he should say something to her; make some gesture to comfort her. Charlie would want him to make sure that Amita was okay.

Even as he thought that, though, he couldn't seem to make himself move. For a moment, he and Amita just stood there, staring at each other, unable to speak. Finally, Megan came from behind him.

"Amita," she said, quietly, calmly "what exactly happened? We haven't been able to get much clear information."

Amita ran her fingers through her hair, not looking directly at Megan. "I'm not sure, either. I only came in afterwards. He- he was shot, twice, they told us. He's still in surgery. He- he's still alive, last we knew, so-" Amita stopped again, biting her lip, still not looking Megan in the eye. Megan reached over and hugged her, not saying anything. Don watched, still unable to move himself to action, his world still stopped.

Larry came up next to him. "A student interrupted my lecture to tell us what had happened to Charles," he said softly. "I felt that I ought to come. Under the circumstances, I'm not sure what assistance I might be able to offer, but if I might be able to help, please-" Larry scratched the back of his head, looking away from Don and into the distance. "-please let me know. I have, at times, helped Charles with his work for you, so it is possible that there is something I could do to help with this case as well."

Don cleared his throat, trying to think of some sort of answer. His phone rang, and he brought it to his ear automatically. "Eppes," he said. His throat was dry, and it came out as a rough whisper.

_"Did you get my message, Agent Eppes?"_ The voice on the other end of the line was clearly being artificially distorted. _"An eye for an eye. It's the oldest law humankind has- an eye for an eye and a life for a life. Don't worry- I'll be in touch. All lives are not equal, and the law isn't satisfied yet."_ The phone disconnected.

Don could feel the world start to spin again. His stomach lurched with the acceleration. "Where's Charlie?" he said, sharply.


	3. Protection

Amita bit her lip and tried not to cry. She was a grown woman. She was a professor at CalSci, she was a scholar, and she was strong and smart. She was not going to break down in front of strangers.

But she couldn't stop seeing him when she closed her eyes. Charlie, with his eyes closed and his face slack in a way that was somehow totally unlike sleep. Charlie, with grey, clammy skin. Charlie, with red blood pooling under his body. She was absurdly afraid that, if he died now, that's all she'd ever remember of him. She closed her eyes, seeing him, wishing him to survive. _I have to see you alive again_, she thought. _Please, god, don't leave me, Charlie._

She opened her eyes and turned away, only to find Don standing there, staring at her. She started- suddenly, she felt like an idiot. She'd been so wrapped up in her own pain and her own fear that she hadn't thought to contact the people Charlie loved the most. She'd failed him terribly. "Don!" she said. "Oh. Did someone call you? I'm sorry, I should have thought- but I didn't- it just-" She didn't know what else to say.

Don looked like a ghost, pale and shocky. He had a wild, fearsome look in his eye, as though he might either lash out or break down at any moment. Amita could feel the storm under his silence as though it were a palpable disturbance in the local atmosphere. She wished there was something she could say to make it better, but she had nothing. Charlie was hurt badly, might well be dying, and she had no comfort for his brother.

And then Megan was there. It was all she could do to keep from breaking down, then. She babbled, barely hearing herself. It was a relief when Larry spoke, and neither Don nor Megan was looking at her. It was easier to cope when no one was watching.

She was still watching Don, though. Charlie would want her to help Don, to be there for him. She watched as he picked up the phone. She saw that something was wrong. She saw Don suddenly come to life, his eyes flashing fire. The storm was no longer seething under the surface. Don had a goal now, and all that impotent fury had a direction. Amita hoped, for his sake, that it was the right one.

Using his FBI credentials, Don bullied his way deeper into the hospital. Larry and Amita followed the two agents, and no one had the guts to question them after having faced Don. He insisted on being taken to the OR where Charlie was in surgery. He stopped there for a moment. She could see Charlie and his surgeons through the glass. Charlie's face was obscured by an oxygen mask, but his dark, curly hair poked out around the sides. The rest of his body was covered, except the area where the surgeons were working. Amita could see blood on their gloved hands. She turned away, the tears she'd been fighting standing still in her eyes.

From the periphery of her vision, she saw Don. He stood for a long moment at the glass. Finally, he turned to the nurse who'd escorted them and nodded.

"Agent Reeves will stand guard over him until we can send someone to spell her. We have reason to believe that Cha- that the patient is still in danger. She is armed and will be with him at all times. Make sure your staff understand that." He nodded to Megan. She was alarmed, but didn't question him. "I'll call David in to replace you, and then I want you with me," he added, to Megan. "Okay?"

Amita's heart skipped a beat. It was bad enough that Charlie'd been hurt so badly- but that he might still be in danger? In the middle of her shock (and shock seemed that it might become a permanent condition for her) something occurred to her. "Don?" she asked.

Don turned to face her, and she flinched at the strangely terrifying look in his eyes. "Did someone threaten Charlie to you?" she continued. "On that phone call?"

Don nodded. She ran her hand through her hair, nervously. "If you give me your phone, I might be able to try tracing the call. If they've done anything complicated to cover their tracks, I won't be able to trace the completed call, but I could also put a program in the phone that might have a chance of countering whatever they're doing and allow us to find them the next time they call. If they call again."

Don looked as though he was seeing her there for the first time. "Yeah," he said, pulling out his phone. "Yeah, do that. Good idea. Thanks."

"What is it they said?" Megan asked. "I might be able to make some sense of it."

Don rubbed a hand over his face. "Sorry," he said, flatly. "I should have given you that information right away. I'm just-"

"It's just that Charlie's hurt, and you're distracted," Megan said. "It's okay. Just tell me now."

"It was someone using voice distortion. They said something about it being an eye for an eye. Then they said that all lives weren't equal, and that the law wasn't satisfied yet. I wasn't sure if they meant that because Charlie survived-" Don ground to a halt, shaking his head.

Megan nodded. "Let me think about that, anyhow."

Don nodded, and turned to leave. Megan caught him by the arm. "You're going to the scene now?"

"Yeah," he said. "Local police aren't going to like handing the case over, but since this looks like the attempted murder of an FBI consultant, probably as revenge for something the FBI has done in the past-"

Megan nodded. "Don-" she said, moving close to him. Her voice was quiet enough that Amita could barely hear it. "Do this one by the book. With Charlie hurt, your judgment is impaired. I'm not going to tell you to let someone else handle the case, but be careful, okay? You don't want to do anything you can't come back from. It won't help Charlie."

For a moment, Don looked angry. Finally, though, he just nodded. "I'll be careful," he said."I want to nail the bastard that did this, not let him off because my evidence isn't admissible. I'll go by the book."

Megan nodded and positioned herself by the entrance to the operating room, ready to challenge all comers. Larry leaned uncertainly off to the side.

Amita grabbed Don's elbow. "If you're going back to the campus, I could use a ride," she said. "I have notes in my office that might help with the phone trace."

He turned to face her, and Amita wasn't sure how to interpret the look in his eyes. "Yeah," he said, "Come on, then."

* * *

Having surrendered his phone to Amita, Don borrowed hers as they made the short drive back to CalSci campus proper. He called David first. It was a short call. Don told him to relieve Megan at the hospital, and he replied that he was already on his way. 

Don took a deep breath. This next call was the call he'd been dreading. If he was going to be honest with himself, he'd been dreading it for the last four years- ever since Charlie'd started working with him on a regular basis. It was one thing for him to face danger. He was trained, and it was the job he'd signed up for. It was another thing for his little brother to risk his life. He'd been terrified for years that the job would catch up with Charlie.

But Don hadn't been able to keep Charlie away, even when he'd half wanted to. It was true that Charlie consulted with a lot of government agencies, not just with Don's team. If Don had really stopped using him as a consultant, he'd had no doubt that Charlie would just start doing the same work somewhere else- if only to spite him.

Still, he'd always feared that someday, Charlie would get hurt, really hurt, and that it would ultimately be his fault. Gripping the steering wheel, he dialed his father's number on Amita's headset. It rang.

_"Amita?"_his father's voice sounded strange in his ears. He cleared his throat.

"No, Dad, it's me," he said.

"_Oh, hi, Don," _his father answered. _"Hey, I'm kind of in the middle of things right now. Can I call you back in a minute? At this number or yours?"_

"This is pretty important," he took a deep breath. Best to just say it. "Charlie's been shot, Dad. He's at CalSci's hospital. Megan and Larry are there, and David's on his way."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line. When Don heard him again, his father's voice was choked and hoarse. _"Is he- Donnie, is he-"_

"He's still alive, Dad," Don felt like an idiot. He shouldn't have let his father think that Charlie might be dead, even for a moment. "I don't know anything more. He was in surgery when I left."

Don heard his father draw in a long, ragged breath, and release it. When he spoke, his voice was more like his own. _"So, he's at the hospital. I'll be there as soon as I can." _He paused a moment. _"Where are you and Amita, if you aren't with the others at the hospital? I assume she's with you."_

"Yeah, she's with me." He glanced over at Amita, sitting in the passenger seat. She was looking out the window, and her head was turned so that he couldn't see her face. "I'm going to the scene."

"_To where Charlie got shot?" _Alan's tone was cautious as he spoke again. _"Why are you doing that, Don? Isn't this LAPD's case?"_

"It's going to be ours now," Don parked the car. "I've got to go, Dad. Megan knows everything I know. She can explain when you get there."

_"I love you, Donnie,"_ Alan said, quickly, before Don could disconnect.

Don took a deep breath. "I love you too, Dad. Be careful, okay?" He hung up.

He took the headset off and moved to hand it back to Amita. She turned around to face him, and he could see that she'd been crying. Her eyes were puffy, and her nose was blotchy and red. There were smudges on her face where she'd wiped the tears away hastily. She looked almost embarrassed.

Don suddenly realized that he'd lumped her with his brother in his mind. She was also his to protect, to look after and keep safe, just as he'd protected Charlie all his life. He hated to see her hurt, but he hated worse to see her trying so hard to hide it. "It's okay," he said, taking her hand gently, and putting the headset in it. He stumbled a little, verbally, looking for the right words. "I know- I mean, it's Charlie, right? I'm scared too. But I'm not going to let anyone hurt him again."

Amita looked away. After a long moment, she nodded. "I know," she said, quietly. "Now, we'd better-" she took a deep, shuddering breath. "I'll let you know as soon as I figure something out with the phone, okay?"


	4. Recall

Don arrived at his brother's classroom with his sunglasses, his badge, and his best FBI manner. It had been less than two hours since Charlie'd been shot here. Students were still milling around the area at a respectful distance, talking animatedly and pointing.

He took a deep breath. Megan had been right. He needed to focus, to get his head in the game. If he was going to help Charlie, he needed to treat this like any other case. Shaking his head, he marched up to the police tape, and caught the eye of the first officer he saw. "Agent Eppes, FBI," he said, holding the badge out. "Who's in charge here?"

"That'd be me," he heard a man drawl from behind him. "We've been expecting you, Agent. I thought you'd've gotten here before now."

"Yeah?" Don answered, turning. He stood for a moment, hands on his hips, looking over the man in front of him. The officer was wearing khakis, a collared shirt, and a leather jacket. Medium build, blond hair. As Don looked at him, he rummaged in his jacket and brought out an LAPD badge.

"Detective Greene," he said, by way of introduction. "Yup. I was warned that the Bureau was going to show its face over this one, and told to give all due assistance. Vic was one of your consultants, right?" He sounded almost cheerful. He put his badge away again.

Don gave him a wary look. "Something like that," he said. "You're ready to turn the case over to us, then?"

"That would be the idea, yeah." He pointed with his thumb towards the door, covered with yellow tape. "You want to take a look?"

Don ducked under the tape and looked around. He'd had occasion to see his brother teach before, but not in this particular room. It was one of those stadium-style classrooms, with the instructor at the bottom of ascending rows of seats. There were a few police officers in the room, and a couple of civilians sitting towards the top. At the bottom, there was tape, flag markers, and an awful lot of blood.

"Has forensics been here?" he asked.

"Been and gone," Greene answered. "Not much to say on that front. We think the shooter fired five times, and hit twice. Stopped on the second hit, and ran. No one inside the classroom saw where the shooter went to, and we haven't been able to find a witness who says they saw the shooter leaving. The halls may well have been empty, since it was during class hours."

Don didn't respond. He walked slowly down the steps, stopping just outside the marked area. He crouched down, looking at the pool of blood. It had the familiar coppery scent that all human blood has. It seemed somehow wrong to Don that Charlie's blood should smell like the blood of every victim and perpetrator Don had ever seen wounded or dead. Charlie's blood should be different.

He had been shot twice in the chest. Don had lost count of the number of bodies he'd seen in this job, and it was all too easy to superimpose his brother's face onto one of them. Charlie, lying on the ground as all this blood, far too much blood, seeped out of him. Charlie, whose first instinct had been to call to his big brother for help.

"Hey, are you okay, Agent?" Greene tapped him on the shoulder. "Do you not usually see a lot of blood in your cases?" He sounded almost sympathetic now.

"My team works mostly with violent crimes. I see plenty of blood," he snapped. _But not Charlie's_, his mind added, unbidden. Don stood up. "You've got witness statements?" he asked, shortly.

"Witness statements, and a couple of live witnesses, if you want to talk with them," Greene answered, giving him an odd look. He indicated the civilians at the top of the room. "That guy probably saved your consultant's life. Did CPR on him before the EMT's arrived."

Don nodded. "Yeah, let me talk to them."

Greene gestured up the steps. "It's your crime scene, Agent."

Don ascended the stairs, going over to where a teenaged girl and a slightly older man were sitting, waiting nervously. Don could see blood on their clothes and hands. He did not offer a handshake. "Hi," he said. "Don Eppes, FBI."

"Oh, my god!" the girl said. "You're Dr. Eppes' brother, aren't you? The one he consults with?"

Greene, standing off to the side, looked startled. Don guessed he hadn't made the connection between his name and Charlie's. Probably hadn't been paying attention.

"Yeah," he said. "Charlie's helped us alot over the years. Now I need you guys to help me too, okay?"

The guy nodded. "I'm Jim Parkman," he said. "This is my girlfriend, Rayna. I- I'm so sorry, about Dr. Eppes. Do you know if he's going to be okay?"

Don tried not to think too hard about that question. "We don't know yet. Detective Greene said you did CPR on him, after the incident?"

"Yeah," Parkman answered. "I was actually an EMT, before. I quit to come back to school. God, I never thought I'd have to do that again."

Don nodded stiffly to him. "Thank you, for that. Did you see anything of the shooter?"

"I got a decent look," said Rayna. "Jim was busy taking notes at the time." She paused, looking uncertain. "I don't know how much help it's actually going to be, though."

"That's okay," Don said, gently. "Just tell me what you remember."

"We sit close to the back, usually," she said. "And someone came into the class. People do come in late, sometimes, but not usually twenty-five minutes before the class ends. It was this chick in a grey hoodie, but I couldn't see her face. She was kind of looking down, with the hood up."

"It was a woman? You're sure?" Don was surprised.

"Yeah, I think so," Rayna said. "I was looking at her sort of sideways, and she looked like she had boobs." She blushed a little. "I didn't think too hard about it, but I guess it could have been a guy- the hoodie was pretty baggy. I really think it was a woman, though."

"Okay, well, that helps." Don pulled a notebook out of his pocket and began writing things down- people's names, what Rayna'd just said. Useful things about the case. "So, what happened then?"

"Well, Dr. Eppes was lecturing. He was saying something about bumper cars, and I was having a hard time figuring out how that related to anything."

Don smiled a little. "Some of his analogies are better than others," he said.

"Yeah." Rayna smiled back for a moment. Then the smile disappeared. "Anyway, he was in the middle of this bumper cars talk, and there was this loud noise. The gunshots, I guess, but I didn't realize that at first. And then Dr. Eppes was bleeding, and I turned to see where the noise was coming from, and there was that woman in the hoodie, pointing a gun. She fired a couple more times and ran out of the room. Some of the other students ran after her. That's when Jim grabbed me and we ran down to help Dr. Eppes. He'd fallen down on the ground, and there was just blood everywhere, and I was so freaked out-"

Parkman put an arm around her shoulder, kissing the top of her head. "It's okay, babe. You did great, when it counted."

Don nodded weakly. He wanted to say something, but no words were coming out- his head was filled with the vision of Charlie, falling to the ground in a hail of bullets. He coughed, and cleared his throat. "Thank you. That'll be very helpful. Have you given LAPD your contact information, in case we need to speak to you again?"

"Yeah," Parkman nodded. "Um... would it be okay if we visited Dr. Eppes, later?"

"I think he'd like that," Don answered, and then turned. There was some kind of commotion at the door.

"Don!" It was Amita, leaning past the uniformed officers. One of them was saying something to her. He gestured to them to let her pass. "Don," she said, ducking under the tape and coming towards him. "Oh, god, I'm such an idiot." She held out his phone for him to take.

"What is it?" Don frowned, taking the phone back.

"Thattook me way longer than it should have," she said, running her hands through her hair nervously. "I was expecting it to be harder than it was. The caller did almost nothing to cover their tracks. I know exactly where the call was coming from."

"Where?" Don asked.

"A payphone inside the hospital." Amita looked up at him, her eyes full of fear. "Don, the person who shot Charlie was only a few hallways over from us. He could still be there-"

Don flipped open his phone, and dialed Megan's number.


	5. Interlude with Larry

**A/N: Short short update... I hit a wall on this one, but I think I've got it sorted now. Next one will be bigger. :)**

He had done everything in his power to get here quickly, but now that he stood in front of the building, Alan Eppes found that his feet had turned to lead. Every step brought him closer to the reality that his baby boy had been hurt- how badly, he did not know. The hospital had called him shortly after Don had, but they'd had no more information for him. Shot twice, in surgery, we just won't know until they're done with him. But come. Come soon.

Alan took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a long moment. He might hate the idea of seeing his youngest in pain, but he hated worse the idea of him waking up, in pain, in a strange place, and alone.

He walked in the doors and headed for the waiting room he'd been directed to. He looked around for someone to ask information of. Instead, he saw Larry.

"Alan," Larry said, clasping him on the shoulder. He looked deeply disturbed, rubbing his free hand along the back of his neck. "It's good that you're here. Megan is still inside, with Charles, although I'm given to understand that David will be replacing her soon."

Alan shook his head, confused. "What? I'm not sure I understand. Is Charlie awake, then? Can we see him?"

Larry frowned. "No- as far as I know, Charles is still in surgery. Have you not spoken to Don? I thought he would have called you."

Alan sucked in his breath, and let it out again through clenched teeth. "He called me, but all he told me is that Charlie had been shot. I'm really hoping that someone sees fit to tell me something soon."

Larry paused, looking cautiously at the other man. "I wonder why Don would be less than forthright with you about developments in Charles's case?"

"What developments? What's going on with Charlie?" Alan snapped, his voice starting to get loud with frustration.

Larry sat down heavily in one of the waiting room chairs and looked up at Alan. "As I said, I believe Charles will be in surgery and then recovery for some time yet, and the nurses have promised to return with news when that happens. In the interim, while my knowledge of events is certainly incomplete, I'd be happy to share it with you."

Alan sat, his hands dangling helplessly between his knees. His voice was quiet now. "Yeah, that'd be good. I guess I better tell the nurses I'm here, too. They might tell me things they wouldn't tell you." He paused. "I'm sorry to be short with you, Larry. None of this is your fault."

Larry nodded. "When we're very afraid or very angry, we tend to place those difficult emotions with those we trust. Given that we both lack the appropriate target for those emotions, I suppose I can only see it as a sign of our friendship that you choose to give them to me instead, Alan."

Alan stared at Larry for a moment. "Ah- well, you're welcome, then," he said, gruffly. "Now, what happened to Charlie? And where's Megan?"


	6. Event

It was poetic. The universe knew that what she was doing was righteous, was _justice_, and it was helping her. Mattie'd hung on for a day before dying, and now that was happening to Eppes' brother as well. Eppes had killed a brother, and now his own brother was forfeit. All she had to do was wait.

In the meantime, it would give her the chance to seek justice for Eppes' other transgressions.

* * *

Megan rarely did guard duty anymore. Occasionally, she ended up with a witness in a safehouse, but that was about the extent of it. She found herself unsure whether she liked it or not. On the one hand, it was kind of high-stakes- you and your gun and your body between the target and a hostile world. On the other hand, in practice, it was usually pretty quiet. It could be a nice chance to think, provided you were still paying attention to your surroundings.

She decided that, all in all, she'd rather have less time to think just now.

She supposed that if someone had to be defending Charlie, she'd just as soon it was her. But it just didn't seem right that a math professor should need armed backup. Then again, it didn't seem right that a math professor should be lying in the room to her right, having a bullet fished out of his chest. She sighed.

"At attention, Agent Reeves!" The voice came from the end of the hall. She smiled.

"Colby. What are you doing here? You're supposed to be on sick leave." She gestured to the sling, and the bandage on his shoulder. "Or at least tied to a desk."

"That's what I tried telling him," David put in. "But he insisted."

Colby grinned. "I couldn't let you guys have all the fun. Besides-" his face suddenly turned serious, and he spoke softly. "Besides, it's Charlie, right? I had to come. I promise I'll stay out of David's way if anything happens."

Megan looked around. Even with David and Colby there, she made sure to keep a clear view of possible vantages for attack. "Yeah, well, better not tell Don. He's- well, about how you'd expect." Although, to be fair, Megan had utmost confidence in Colby's ability to be dangerous on Charlie's behalf, stab wound or no stab wound.

"Yeah, I talked to him," David said, his hands held loosely on his hips as he looked around. "Do they know yet if he's going to be okay?" he said, quietly, indicating Charlie.

"Not yet," Megan said, blowing out her breath. "Shot twice, once in the shoulder, I think. Once in the chest. They seem to think he's likely to pull through, but you know how it is with these things."

"You never know until the surgery's over," said Colby, looking through the windows at the curly-haired figure on the operating table.

David glanced once in Charlie's direction, and then took a hard look at the area. After a moment, he turned back. "Alright, you can consider yourself relieved, Megan. I know Don wants to see you ASAP. Last I knew, he was at the scene. I heard from him maybe five minutes ago, from Amita's phone."

Megan nodded. "Yeah, someone called Don's phone and made threats, so she was trying to trace the caller. He must have used her phone instead."

David nodded, and she turned to go. Colby clapped her on the shoulder. "Hey, Megan?"

"Yeah, Colby?"

Colby rubbed his neck, a strange expression on his face. "Mr. Eppes is out there, and he's pretty upset. You're probably going to want to take a minute to talk to him."

"Yeah, of course," she said, half-smiling at him. "Be careful, you two."

He nodded. "We'll try." He paused a moment. "And look out for Don, if you can. Charlie means- well, you know how Don feels about Charlie." He looked away.

Megan nodded. She knew how all of them felt about Charlie.

* * *

It took her considerably longer to find her way out than it had taken to find her way in. She hadn't been paying close attention at the time. She'd just been following Don as he'd barreled his way through. The hospital staff, rather than helping her, seemed to be mostly trying to look busy whenever she saw them. It was a familiar reaction to her badge, so she just ignored it. She didn't quite feel like grabbing one of them to ask for directions, either. Finally, she meandered her way out into the waiting room.

When she emerged, Alan and Larry were sitting across from each other, talking quietly. Larry noticed her first, and stood. Alan turned around, startled, and pulled himself to his feet as well. She went first to Alan, and embraced him. "I'm so, so sorry," she half-whispered.

Alan pulled away, still clasping her upper arms. He looked up at her, his mouth tight with fear. Megan could see unshed tears standing in his eyes. "Have you seen him? Larry told me there'd been more threats, and that Don had you guarding him."

"Yeah, David just relieved me." She smiled weakly. "I've seen him, but there wasn't really much to see. I did hear that one of the shots was a shoulder wound, which is good. They seemed pretty positive about his prognosis, from what I could see. But we just won't know, until he's out of surgery."

Alan nodded, not speaking. He let his hands drop to his side, turning away. Larry came around, and for a moment, he and Megan just held each other. She could feel the tension all through his body. She took a deep breath, and decided it was time to just be Megan, and not Agent Reeves. Megan's friend was in danger, and it was good to be afraid, to be held by him, without having to think about who did it or what she was going to do about it.

Larry reached up, cupped her face in both hands, and kissed her. As he let her go, she could see naked terror in his eyes. He looked very small, somehow. For just a second, she wanted nothing more in the universe than to stay with him, to hold him, and to make him believe it would all be okay.

She cleared her throat, wiping tears from her eyes. When she looked up, Larry's face was merely sad again. She tried to smile at him, but her mouth merely tightened. "Ah- Larry?" she asked. "Could you give me a ride back to CalSci? Don wants me to meet him at the scene, but I think he forgot that we drove here together, and that he took the SUV."

Larry nodded. "I'm pleased that I can help, in any way," he said, quietly. "Will you be alright here by yourself, Alan?" he asked, turning to the older man. "Perhaps you should call Millie. Although, I'm certain she'll be here anyway, as soon as the news gets to her."

"I'll be fine," Alan responded, a little gruffly. "I've spent half my life waiting for Charlie, in one way or another. I can do it a little longer on my own."

* * *

Megan and Larry walked to the parking garage silently. When she reached for his hand, he looked over at her. The expression on his face was one he often had when he looked at her. It was as though she was a perpetual surprise to him- a surprise, and a miracle. A cosmic event, astounding in its beauty, but with immeasurable properties.

As they came up to the car, she turned to him, her expression soft. "Larry-"

She heard the gunshot, and she reacted without thinking. She pushed Larry to the ground, looking for cover. It was only a moment later that the pain had time to reach her brain, and she realized that the bullet hadn't missed after all. Larry stared in horror at the rapidly expanding bloodstain on her shirt.

At the same moment that the gun fired again, she heard her cell phone ring.


	7. Insight

**A/N: Shortish update- I find action scenes difficult to write. I have to have them very clear in my head. In any case, the story progresses. Enjoy. :)**

* * *

The bullet missed them and ricocheted off of Larry's car, leaving a dent and a scar in the paint job. _His beautiful car! _she thought, regretfully. _He's going to be so upset_. When she looked back at him, though, he didn't seem to even see it. His eyes were entirely fixed on her.

Her phone rang again. Megan swore silently, reached down with her left arm, pulled the phone off her belt and slid it, with all her strength, across the floor of the parking garage and away from them. A shockwave of pain went up her arm as she moved it, and she stumbled, gasping. She wasn't going to be able to use that arm again any time soon. The bullet had broken something in her shoulder or arm or somewhere, she was pretty sure.

Gritting her teeth, she pulled her gun out of its holster with her right hand and pushed Larry in front of her, crawling along the floor in the opposite direction of the ringing phone. Without thinking about it, she did her best to keep herself between Larry and the shooter.

She could hear footsteps across the parking garage. She tried to focus on getting Larry into the stairwell, where the concrete could serve as cover for him to escape.

"Dr. Fleinhardt," a voice called out. The woman speaking sounded almost nervous. "You should leave. I don't want to shoot you by accident."

Megan and Larry froze. They were at the back of a dark green SUV, and she could see the stairwell only 10 or 15 feet away. She was crouched on all fours, Larry in front of her. He turned around suddenly, putting himself in her arms, and looked up at her. Megan thought he would be frightened by all this, but there was none of the terror she'd seen on his face earlier. She didn't know how to interpret his expression, but it wasn't simple fear. Shock, maybe, she thought, worried.

"I know you don't believe me," the voice continued. "But it's true. Shooting the servant would be justice, but shooting you would violate the law."

Megan looked at the stairwell, and at possibilities for cover around it. There were no cars in the immediate vicinity; if one of them ran for it, they'd have to hope to get inside before the shooter hit them. Still, if she could provide a distraction, there was a chance for Larry to get clear-

She leaned into him, taking momentary pleasure in the warmth and the smell of him. "I'll cover you," she breathed into his ear. "Call Don." Without letting go of him, she turned, peeking cautiously through the windows of the SUV. She caught a glimpse of a dark figure a fair distance away. "Count of ten," she whispered, and nodded towards the stairs.

She turned, intending to duck around the cars, away from Larry and towards their assailant. As she did so, Larry caught her, reached up, and kissed her. "_Go._" she hissed at him. Shakily, he nodded, and turned away.

* * *

"She's not answering," Don said. He hit the "end" button savagely, cutting off Megan's voicemail. He dialed her number again, and stood for a moment, listening to it ring. By the time her voicemail answered again, he was already out of the door of Charlie's classroom, headed towards the car. Amita had to run to keep up. "Dammit!" he said. He punched David's number in. 

_"Sinclair_," David answered.

"Yeah, David- have you gotten to the hospital yet?"

_"Been here for a little while already,"_ David answered. _"We relieved Megan."_ There was a pause on David's end._ "They finished the surgery, and Charlie's being moved to recovery now."_

"We?" Don asked. He shook his head. "Never mind. How long ago did Megan leave?"

_"Five, ten minutes. Is there a problem?"_ David sounded concerned.

"I don't know. I'm on my way over there, okay?" Don fished in his pocket for his keys.

_"Alright. See you soon."_

Don had no sooner put his phone back on his belt when it started to ring again. "Eppes," he said, flipping it open.

_"Don,"_ the voice on the other end of the line said. Don stiffened, unable to identify the voice immediately. _"Megan is- is wounded. She directed me to call you."_ Don breathed. It was Larry, his voice choked and strange.

"Wounded? What's happening, there, Larry? Amita found out that the call came from inside the hospital-"

_"We were at the car, in the parking garage,"_ Larry said. _"I was standing right next to her, and someone just started shooting. She was magnificent- she-"_

"Was she hit?" Don found himself next to his car. He pulled the door open.

_"She was shot, yes,"_ Larry said. Don thought he sounded like he was about to burst into tears. _"I'm sorry, I'm not being clear. She told me to leave, and I- I just left her there. I should have- should have- but she _told_ me-"_

"I'm on my way," Don said, mechanically. "Call the police, Larry. I'm on my way."

Don started to drive.

* * *

"Why are you doing this?" Megan called, ducking down behind a Dodge Colt. She would have liked more substantial cover than a tiny hatchback, but she was looking for a better vantage point. Or a way out, one or the other. "Revenge?" 

"It's not revenge," snapped the shooter. Female, Megan thought, now that she had a chance to think about it clearly. Middle-aged? It was hard to tell. No distinctive regional accent. "It's the righteous execution of the law," the shooter continued.

"Yeah, the law," Megan responded. "You mentioned that. I'm an FBI agent, you know. We're supposed to uphold the law. Is that important to you?"

"You don't uphold the law!" The woman fired a shot. The window of a nearby vehicle shattered. "The law is beyond you!"

Megan sucked in her breath. Her left side was starting to feel cold, and numb. She checked her weapon with her right hand, lifted it, and looking for a good shot. "What is the law, then?" she asked. Keep the shooter talking.

"It's the law of the universe, Agent." Megan couldn't see the woman. If she'd been wearing her vest, or she hadn't already been shot, she might have risked coming into the open or rushing the other woman. But now?

"The law of the universe?" Keep talking. If nothing else, Larry would bring help eventually.

"You shall give life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, burn for burn, wound for wound, stripe for stripe. He killed a brother, killed his servant. His brother and his servant are forfeit, Agent. If not you, then one of the others!" She fired again, closer this time. The shooter's voice was rising, getting more intense. Megan was starting to realize that she was dealing with someone without a firm grip on reality.

In the distance, she heard sirens.


	8. Intervention

Megan crouched, her back to a yellow Beetle. She was starting to feel light-headed, and it was hard to breathe. She craned her head around, trying to get a decent look at her shoulder. She resisted the temptation to poke it.

It occurred to her that it might be a good idea to try to bind it, but she was loathe to put down her sidearm long enough to work out an improvised bandage with her one good hand. She peeked back out at the shooter. She suddenly realized that she had lost track of the other woman. Not good.

She pulled herself up a little, scanning the area. "You're running out of time," she called out. "Larry's called for help. Do you hear that?" Megan could hear sirens getting closer.

A gunshot cracked through the air, and Megan dropped back down next to the Beetle, trying to work out where the shot'd come from. She tried again, willing her voice to be steady and clear. "You're not stupid. You can't actually think you're going to get away with this," she said. "There's no way you're going to shoot an FBI consultant and agent and just walk free. So, what is it you want?"

"_Justice!"_ The other woman snapped.

_Gotcha_, Megan thought, locating her by her voice. Megan slid around the car, looking for a shot.

"My life is _nothing_, if I can serve as the executor of the law."

Megan caught sight of her. She was hiding behind a blue Ford Escort a few rows away. Megan drew in breath through clenched teeth and began sliding around the side of the Beetle, keeping the other woman in sight as much as possible.

The shooter began circling around as well, and Megan silently prayed that help was really coming, and soon. She was trained to understand people, and their motivations. To bargain with them or predict them. Right now, however, she had very little to work with. _She's not afraid to die,_ Megan thought._And the only thing she wants is me and Charlie dead_.

Knowing that might have been useful if she'd been back at her office, trying to track the killer down. Right now, though, she was trying to argue for her life. There isn't a whole lot of bargaining room when the only thing the other person wants is the one thing you don't want to give them. _If Charlie was here_, Megan thought, ducking over next to a light blue Camry, _he'd say something about game theory. He'd smirk at me, and he'd tell me to do something crazy, and it would _work_, and we'd take him out to dinner afterward-"_

She caught a glimpse of the shooter, and she squeezed off a shot. She knew before she pulled the trigger that it was a miss. Somehow, the shooter was now in-between her and the nearest exit. It occurred to Megan that if the other woman was focused on the close exit, she might be able to make for a more distant one. She began moving in that direction, cautiously.

"Trying to run, Agent?" Megan fired in the direction of the voice, and slumped against the nearest car. The world spun around her. She shut her eyes for just a moment, and she could hear footsteps behind her and to her right.

She pulled herself up again, pointing her gun in the direction of the sound, waiting for the woman to come into the clear.

At that moment, she heard the door to the closer exit open. The shooter whirled, and fired. Megan heard someone cry out, and her heart sank. She recognized the voice.

Larry.

* * *

Larry Fleinhardt shook as he closed his phone and contemplated the stairwell he was sitting in. It was dirty, concrete, and smelled vaguely of urine. It was also not where Megan was, wounded and being stalked by a killer with a gun.

He wrapped his arms around himself, looking unhappily into the distance. Megan had told him to go. Megan, he knew, was a very competent federal agent. He, himself, was no action hero. This had never bothered him, mind. He was very good at the things he'd devoted his life to. And it's not as though he were some 90-pound weakling. He felt that he was in excellent shape for a man of his years, bone-density loss or no. For the most part, he'd always admired- but not been envious of- Megan's more impressive physical talents and abilities.

All this to say, that under normal circumstances he would have felt no undue concern for Megan's safety. He usually trusted her to know her job, just as he knew she trusted him to know his own job.

These, however, were not normal circumstances. Megan had been wounded. How badly, he was not certain, but he was sure that gunshot wounds were usually dangerous. He had alerted both Don, and the police. Nevertheless, he knew (because he calculated it in his head, though so much more slowly than his young friend might have, in similar circumstances) that it would still be some time before either party could possibly make an appearance on the scene.

Megan might be fine, in the meantime.

Then again, she might not be.

The shooter had stated a firm desire _not_ to shoot him, Dr. Larry Fleinhardt. Perhaps, if he were to go back there, she might continue not shooting him. He might be able to distract her long enough to allow Megan to either disable her or escape.

He found that he preferred that possibility over the reality of sitting here, in this stairwell, waiting to find out whether the woman he loved had survived.

* * *

It took him a few minutes to ascend the stairs to the level he'd parked his beloved antique car on. He'd thought it would take longer, but by the time he'd made up his mind to go, he had already been most of the way up one flight of stairs.

When he reached the door, he stood still for a few moments, hand on the doorknob. Cautiously, he put an ear up against it, listening with trepidation for signs of life. Were those footsteps? He couldn't tell. He could, however, easily identify the sound of a gunshot that rang through the concrete and metal he was pressed up against.

He wasn't sure what had just happened. He tried not to think about it. In any case, it seemed appropriate for him to intervene now, if he intended to do so. Larry pushed the door open.

He only had a fraction of a second to process the scene in front of him (cars, broken glass, a hooded and masked woman with a gun) before the concrete door frame exploded next to him. He yelped, and jumped back. He peered cautiously out from behind the door. "I had hoped," he said, shakily, "That you might continue to consider it a violation of your ethical code to shoot me."

But there was no response. As he peeked around the door, he saw no sign of the woman. Behind him, however, he heard sirens, and the sounds of cars beginning to arrive at the bottom of the garage.

After a moment, Megan appeared from in between two cars, gun still held at the ready. "Larry?" she said. He emerged from the stairwell in time to see her stumble and slump against a nearby vehicle, her breathing heavy and labored. The left side of her shirt was soaked with blood.

"Professional medical assistance will be here shortly," he said, moving quickly to her side. "I have also called Don, as you directed me to do. Perhaps, in the interim, you would care to lean on me? Or, instead, I could aid you in lying down until they arrive." It seemed to him a ridiculous thing to say, but Larry had never known what the appropriate reaction to someone who was hurt or in pain should be. He found that, in times of stress, he retreated into precise, formal language- as though it could distance him from the terrible events at hand. He stood, awkwardly, unsure how to proceed.

"Thanks, Larry," said Megan, smiling weakly at him. "Maybe- maybe I should just sit down for a minute." Larry leaned against her good side, helping her gently to the ground. He sat down next to her, both of them with their backs to a junky red Festiva. Megan rolled her head to one side, her face anguished. "You're okay? Oh, god, I thought she'd shot you. What the hell do you think you were doing?"

Larry paused, choosing his words carefully. "Those of us who love you," he said, slowly, "must wait, and simply have faith that you will return from your assignments in good health. It seemed to me... undesirable, to have to do so now, when I could so easily attempt to render assistance."

"Still," said Megan faintly, "stupid move, Fleinhardt." But she was smiling.

Behind him, Larry heard doors burst open.

"FBI!" he heard Don yell. "FBI, put your weapons down!"


	9. Recovery

Don flipped on his lights and siren and drove full out. He could hear Amita gasp, sitting in the seat beside him, unused to the thrill that is driving too fast in LA with everyone required to make way for you. Don just tried to concentrate on getting there, as quickly as possible.

As he pulled up in front of the parking garage, he could hear other sirens coming. He jumped out of the car and began suiting up- vest and weapons- with all speed. Alan didn't need to have both his boys in the hospital today.

Amita was already out of the car and standing awkwardly to one side of him, as though uncertain what she ought to be doing now.

"Charlie's out of surgery now," Don told her, not meeting her eyes. "David said. I don't know if you'll be able to see him yet, but... you should go to him. Stay with my Dad, if nothing else." Don finished fastening his vest on.

Amita nodded, slowly. "Be careful," she said. Don couldn't- or didn't want to- read her expression. Biting her lip, she turned to go. "Let me know," she said turning back, briefly, "if I can help. Please."

* * *

"We're over here," Don heard Megan call, weakly. "I think she's gone, but you'd better- better make sure..." she trailed off.

Don nodded at the police officers, directing them to search the area. He called the medics in. His gun still out, he stalked towards Megan's voice, looking for signs of her assailant. Someone stood suddenly in front of him, and he swung his gun around to aim at the man on reflex, his heart beating fast. A moment later, he identified the person in front of him and relaxed marginally. "Jesus, Larry- are you trying to get shot?" he snapped. "What the hell are you doing here, anyway?"

"Tryin' t'get shot," he heard Megan put in. There was laughter in her voice, but it still sounded really shaky. Don moved quickly towards Larry. Megan was leaning up against a car, looking shocky and close to unconsciousness.

"Aw, hell," Don said, kneeling down next to Megan, putting his service revolver away. "That's a lot of blood." He bit his lip. "We got medics on their way, okay?" He said to her.

"Hi, Don," Megan said, smiling at him. She relaxed suddenly, the tension going out of her. Don suspected she'd been using her strength, trying to keep it together for Larry's sake. "S'a crazy…"

"Hey, hey," he told her, taking her hand. "Don't worry about it. We got it, okay?"

"No, I mean… she's _crazy._ Wants t'kill the brother, n'the… servant. S'me, the servant." She rolled her head around, looking up at Larry. "_Talionic law_, 'kay? Look for… for… yeah." She turned her head back to Don. "M'tired."

"Yeah, I'm not surprised," he said. "But you're not going anywhere yet. Just stay with us, sweetheart, okay? Me and Larry are right here." He heard the medics come in the doors. "You just stay with us."

A moment later, he stood to the side while the EMTs worked on Megan, preparing her for transport back to the hospital. Larry stood next him him, arms folded across his chest, staring intently and unhappily over at Megan.

Don cleared his throat. "Talionic law?" he said, questioning. "Do you know what that means, Larry? I've never heard of it."

"The Lex Talionis, Don," Larry answered, not taking his eyes off of Megan. "Reciprocal justice. Outlined most famously in the Bible, and the Code of Hammurabi, I think. Commonly known as, 'an eye for an eye'."

Don nodded. "Yeah," he said, urgently, "the shooter mentioned that, when she called me in the hospital."

"Megan was telling you," Larry continued, "that the shooter was seeking revenge specifically for the death of someone's brother- presumably her own- and also for the death of someone's servant. Maybe the brother's? You should check recent cases."

"Yeah, yeah. Of course." Don said. He paused. "Thanks."

"It was elementary knowledge, Don. A few moments at a search engine would have yielded it to you." Larry's continued to focus on Megan.

"No, I mean-" Don paused, searching for words. "Thanks for calling me. I'm not sure how much more time Megan had, so- so, you know. Thanks."

"Since Megan is important to me in her own right, I would have done it regardless." Larry sounded slightly tetchy. "But nevertheless," he said, more quietly, "you're welcome."

* * *

Amita walked into the waiting room again to find Alan standing off to one side, alone, staring out a window. He started a little when he saw her, and turned. She walked over to him, and he embraced her. "Amita," he said. "Charlie's in recovery now, they tell me, but we can't see him until he's through there."

Amita nodded. "Don told me David told him- anyway. Do they have any idea how long?"

"They told me maybe an hour, hour and a half to be safe, but who knows. They're not saying much else, but I think this is a good sign, isn't it? That he's in recovery now?"

"I hope so," she said, but her face was tense. Wrapping her arms around herself, she turned to stare out the window herself. It was a terrible view- all grey sky and the ugly tops of other buildings in the medical complex.

Alan cleared his throat. "Hey, Larry told me about that phone call. Were you able to help Donnie find the guy who shot Charlie?"

"I found out where the shooter was calling from," she said, shortly. "I don't know if he's managed to track from there. He sent me back here to stay with you." She was leaving out the call from Larry, the news that Megan was wounded. She told herself that she didn't want to worry Alan any more than he already was, especially since she had no details. Truth to tell, she just didn't want to talk about it. Talking about it would make it real, and today had already been enough of a nightmare.

She found herself crying, suddenly. She sank down into a chair, cradling her head in her hands. She'd been trying not to break down ever since she'd stood on those steps and seen Charlie lying there, and now it all came rushing out whether she wanted it to or not. She sobbed raggedly, digging her fingers into her skull.

And then Alan was there, pulling her hands gently away from her face. Amita wanted to apologize, to pull herself together and to be strong. She opened her mouth, but when she tried to speak, she just dissolved into sobbing again. She leaned into Alan, her face turned down in embarrassment, crying uncontrollably.

Alan put his arms around her. "Shhh," he said, gently, kissing the top of her head. "He'll be okay, little one. He'll be okay." Amita shook, wishing that she knew that was really going to be true.

"It's Begad, doo," she gasped, finally. She knew she must look terrible, and she couldn't breathe through her nose. "Do't dow how bad id is. The shooter god Begad, too. The shooter was here, righd here. Probably wads to bake sure Charlie's dead."

Alan, still holding her, was quiet. Amita pulled away, suddenly. "I'b sorry," she said. "I- id's your sod, and I did't bead to- I'b ad idiot." She began searching in her laptop case, dropped next to her feet, for something to blow her nose with.

"Megan's hurt?" said Alan, quietly. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a white, rumpled handkerchief. "Here," he told her, holding it out.

She took it, embarrassed, and blew her nose. "I'm sorry," she said, finally. "This isn't helping." She looked despondently down at the handkerchief. "I'll… um, wash this. And give it back to you."

Alan nodded, looking out the window again. "Donnie will find whoever this sick person is," he said, slowly. "Before he can do more damage. Don't worry."


	10. Intention

Don stood in the hallway of the hospital, his face grim. "It's time," he said, looking at Colby and David. "We're going to start working this case, and stop letting it work us. Charlie and Megan are depending on us, so we better kick some major ass, okay?"

"She gonna be okay?" David said, shortly, not looking up.

Don nodded slowly. "They think so. The bullet nicked an artery and chipped a piece off her shoulder blade, but we got to her in time. They only had to give her one unit of blood this time. Said she'd make up the rest on her own." Megan's wound had taken much less time to treat than Charlie's, he reflected, morbidly. He was glad about that, though; he wasn't sure he could take all that waiting and not-knowing twice in one day.

David nodded, relief plain on his face. Don looked around at them. "I want the two of you to head back to the office. David- I want you going through the records of the phone call the shooter gave me, and also through the CCTV footage from the hospital and the parking garage. Amita tracked the call to a payphone near here. I've already had LAPD check the phone for prints, but the likelihood is that none of those prints is going to connect to our shooter. We might be able to get an ID from the footage, though. It's worth a try, anyhow."

He turned to Colby. "Colby- I want you to go back through our recent cases. We're looking for a male and his associate, both killed in the progress of the case. Then, I want you looking into their families- sisters, in particular."

"Crazy sisters- got it," Colby said, almost flippantly. Don, his temper fraying at the edges, clenched his fists. He _knew_, he understood, that humor- even lame, flat humor like this- was Colby's way of coping with the job. Don, however, had never felt less like laughing in his life. He closed his eyes, and he kept flashing back to that pool of blood on the floor of his brother's classroom. Charlie, with a hole in his chest, lying unconscious on an operating table. Megan, shocky from blood loss, still trying to help with the case. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, breathing deeply.

"Yeah, well," he said, quickly, "get on it, okay? I'm staying here to check over the security. Chances are, this psycho is going to try again. I'm going to make sure she doesn't succeed."

* * *

Colby and David had to pass through the waiting room on the way to their car. Colby supposed they could have found a way to go around. He almost wished they had. When they walked through the double doors leading away from the hospital rooms and operating theaters, Larry, Alan and Amita were waiting for them.

It wasn't that Colby didn't like the three of them. He did. Even Larry, despite the bizarreness of the him and Megan thing. Under usual circumstances, he would have been pleased to see them all. Now, though, they converged on him and David, asking for answers and explanations. Colby took a deep breath.

"How is Megan?" Larry said, concern written all over his face. His hands were pressed together as if praying, resting against his lips. Amita put a hand gently on Larry's shoulder and looked back at Colby, waiting.

"Don says she's going to be okay," Colby said. "She had to have a blood transfusion, but they're saying she's stable. That's what I hear, anyhow. Hopefully, someone will let you back to see her and Charlie soon, okay?"

Larry was silent for a moment. He ducked his head and exhaled heavily. When he looked up again, Colby could see fear and relief warring for place in his eyes. Not that Colby spent too much time looking at Fleinhardt's eyes, mind you. That would just be weird.

"Are you headed back downtown?" asked Amita. Colby turned to look at her. She was shaky, had obviously been crying, but she seemed to be holding it together okay now. He wasn't sure exactly what Charlie had done to deserve a woman like her. _Good on him_, Colby thought.

He nodded to her. "Yeah," he said.

"Don wants us checking over the CCTV footage from the scenes, and checking old cases for leads," David put in.

"I could help with the video footage," she said. "Charlie-" she stumbled over the name, and stopped. Slowly, she drew a deep breath, and continued. "Charlie and I have worked on face recognition algorithms before. I could apply that work here; see if anyone shows up in multiple places. It would be faster than doing it by eye."

David nodded, cautiously. "If you think you can really help."

Amita whirled around to face Alan. "If he wakes up, while I'm gone-"

"I'll tell him, don't worry," Alan said, nodding. He smiled at her. "Besides, he's not stupid. He knows you love him." He hugged her once, and looked up to face the two agents. "You boys be careful," he told them. "This crazy woman already went after Megan; I don't want to be back in this room for either of you."

"We'll watch our backs, Mr. Eppes," Colby answered. "Promise."

"Wait!" Larry said, suddenly, as Colby and David were walking away. "I almost forgot."

Colby turned back. "What is it, Larry?"

"I didn't notice this at the time, but as I was reviewing today's events in my mind… something stood out." Larry ran a hand nervously over his head. "The shooter knew my name. I don't know why- maybe she knows me, or maybe she did some research? But she was after Megan, and I don't believe our relationship is such common knowledge that a stranger would have known to check on me." He paused again. "It's little enough, I know, but-"

"No, you're right. That's important to know," David told Larry, reassuringly. "Thanks."

"Let us know if anything else stands out, okay, Larry?" Colby said, encouragingly. He, Amita and David left the building, walking quickly.

* * *

It was driving her crazy. Eppes' brother: was he really dying, or was there a chance he might survive? She'd called twice asking, but had been told both times that they weren't allowed to discuss it. She hadn't even tried with the FBI woman, partly because she knew they weren't going to tell her, and partly because she was pretty sure she'd failed to kill her.

She desperately wished that she'd missed entirely, since she hadn't been able to get in a killing shot. The FBI woman's wound meant that it had to be her to answer for Eppes' crime and not one of the other agents. Otherwise, the law would be out of balance again, with one person wounded illegally.

She had to get access to them in the hospital, somehow. Dr. Charles Eppes and that tall FBI woman both had to die. Then it would finally be over. It would finally be alright.


	11. Observation

Megan opened her eyes, slowly. She felt strange, floaty, and it took her a moment to figure out where she was. She remembered the sick feeling she'd had when she'd realized that she was bleeding way too much. She remembered Larry, and being afraid, and playing hide-and-go-seek with a crazy woman.

"Hey, there." Don's face floated into view. "Good to see you back with us, Agent Reeves. How're you feeling?"

"Like…" Megan turned her head, and the world started to spin. "Like a pulsar."

Don laughed. "Says the woman dating Larry."

"Larry," Megan said, squeezing her eyes shut again. "Where's Larry?"

"He's on his way, along with my dad. We just got you and Charlie moved in here from recovery." Megan opened her eyes. Don was pointing to her right. She moved her head very slowly and carefully. She could see, just barely, a glimpse of Charlie's curls in a bed next to hers.

"He's okay?" she asked. Don nodded, and she found herself too tired to try to read the subtext of his facial expression. "M'I okay?"

"Yeah," he said, smiling his best Don bullshit smile at her. "You scared us for a minute there, but you're alright now."

Megan rolled her eyes. "If I'm alright, then why are you giving me that look?"

"What look?" Don asked, trying to look casual.

"Your 'everything-is-going-to-be-fine' look. The one you give victims' families."

"Uh…" Don said, as Larry and Alan came through the door. Larry came straight over, cautiously taking her hand.

"How are you?" he asked, concerned.

"She's like a pulsar," Don put in, mock helpfully.

"Hm. Rotating? Or highly magnetized?" Larry asked, looking at her.

"Everything's spinning, me included. I'm guessing it's the painkillers," Megan answered, smiling. "Now, why doesn't one of _you_ tell _me_ how I am?"

Larry looked up at Don. Don cleared his throat. "You're fine, like I said. Bullet nicked an artery, though, so you lost a lot of blood."

"Yeah," she said drily, "I was there for that part."

Don smiled, and it was a real smile this time. "Yeah, I guess you were." He looked down, then, and she couldn't see his face. "They had to give you another transfusion. And-ah-" he paused. "It also took a piece out of your shoulder blade. They tell me it'll heal up just like normal," he hurried to add, "but you're going to be out of the field for a long time." He grimaced. "Man, between you and Colby, the whole team might be due for a break."

"Heh," she snorted. "Any excuse for a vacation, huh, Eppes?"

"Yeah, well," Don said. He turned to the window, not looking at her. "Hey, you were pretty fuzzy at the end, there. Do you remember anything that could help us ID the shooter?"

Megan tried to think. It was all a bit vague in her mind, and she was having a hard time concentrating anyhow. "She kept talking all about the law of the universe…"

"Talionic law, yeah," Don nodded. "Larry explained it to me."

"It's funny, though…" she trailed off, frowning, trying to remember what she'd thought was strange about that. Larry patted her hand encouragingly.

"Yeah? What's funny?" Don said, perching himself on the corner of her bed with his arms crossed.

"She didn't mention god," Megan said, thoughtfully. "You'd think she would be religious, with all that eye-for-an-eye crap, but she never mentioned god."

* * *

Amita breathed a sigh of relief when the three of them entered the bullpen. It was strange to be here without Charlie. Had she ever, in fact, been here without Charlie before? She tried to remember. Regardless- at least she didn't feel like she had to worry about a masked woman with a gun materializing behind her anymore.

"Where should I set up?" she asked, pointing to her laptop case. David indicated a room full of video equipment.

"Here's probably the easiest. We've got access to the server where the hospital stores the surveillance footage, so we should have everything we need right here." David began fiddling with the equipment. "To tell you the truth," he said, with a rueful expression on his face. "I was impressed at how well Don managed to fake calm to the judge, when he was getting the warrant for the video."

"I guess judges aren't impressed with hysterical FBI agents, huh?" She put her laptop on some free table space and began plugging it in. She stood, for a moment, looking at her computer, and then looked up at David. "No, you're right, though. It's very- very Don, how well he's managing." She bit her lip, staring at a random point off in the distance. "I wish I were doing so well."

David snorted. "Don't worry- he'll go to pieces, just like anybody else. He'll be all bad-ass coldhearted G-man until the case is all wrapped up, and then he'll disappear somewhere for a while in hopes that none of us will notice that the case got to him." David said the words lightly, but Amita could tell that he spoke from experience.

"Hmm," she said, beginning to work on her algorithm. "I don't think I'm bad-ass enough to be a G-man."

David laughed. "Maybe not," he told her. "But I hear you're a pretty good mathematician."

"Yeah, well," she said. "Let's wait and see if I can make this work before we start bragging about me, okay?" Amita closed her eyes for a moment, wishing she had Charlie- or even Larry- here to help her. She took a deep breath. She'd just have to make it work by herself.

* * *

It took her far too long to find the materials she needed. Heavy duty zip ties were easy- a quick stop at a nearby hardware store had worked for that. Syringes and needles were harder to find, but she'd managed. Poison was easy enough, but she'd had to do some research to make sure she found something that was sufficiently deadly.

No, it was the anesthetic that she'd had trouble with. The internet hadn't been much help. Maybe her google skills were just sub-par, but she was looking for something that would put someone to sleep quickly without killing them, and she wasn't finding a lot of options. She'd finally decided to go with the classic: chloroform.

This then begged the question, where was she going to get chloroform from? It's not as though they stocked it at the corner drugstore. She finally ended up skulking around the biology department, hoping to sneak into a lab while people were on dinner breaks and ransack the place for her needed chemicals.

Once there, though, she'd had an inspiration. She smiled, smugly, remembering. She'd put on her best professional demeanor, and simply knocked on the door of the first lab she came to. She'd explained that she was halfway through setting up an experiment when she realized she'd run out, and could she please borrow some chloroform, and she'd bring the bottle back as soon as she was done. The tech had absently conjectured that she was from Dr. Knott's lab, and handed over the bottle without thinking about it too hard.

All well and good, but she'd been nothing but lucky that the FBI hadn't caught up to her yet. It was already after dark, and she couldn't be sure how much time she had left. She was hiding in a dark corner of the employee parking garage, waiting for someone to come by who at least vaguely resembled her, and her nerves were close to shot.

"Think of Mattie," she whispered to herself. "Think of the law."

It was close to forty minutes before she caught sight of an older, graying woman stepping out of the elevator alone. "Thanks," she breathed, though she wasn't sure who she was thanking. Mattie's ghost? The will of the universe? Some divine force?

It was less hard than she thought it would be, to sneak up behind the woman. She jammed the gun into her back, and put the chloroform over her face. It was another job to drag the woman's dead weight into the back seat of her car, but she managed to do it without anyone showing up. She zipped the woman's hands together, in case she woke up early, and checked to make sure she was breathing.

After that, she just had to take the ID and the spare set of scrubs from the woman's bag. Using medical tape, she strapped her gun to her waist, trusting the bagginess of the tunic to conceal it. It's not as though she had a figure anyone was going to look twice at, anyhow.

The last thing she grabbed was the pair of syringes she'd prepared earlier. One for Dr. Eppes, one for the FBI woman. She'd better hurry.


	12. Discovery

**A/N: In exchange for the longish wait, you get a longer-than-average chapter. There's probably one more chapter and an epilogue coming after this one. Hope you enjoy. :)  
**

* * *

Don walked from the door to the window for the umpteenth time. He checked sniper angles absently, knowing he wasn't going to see anything. Unless she was faking them out, this shooter wasn't a good enough shot to be a sniper. Besides he'd had Megan and Charlie both moved out of range of the window anyhow. Just to be safe.

Larry and Alan had been sent back out of the room- visiting in the ICU was pretty limited. Since Don was an armed guard, though, and not just a visitor, they couldn't quite kick him out. He got the impression that the nurses wished they could anyhow. Mind, he half wished he could keep _them_ out, too. He jumped every time someone came in to check vitals.

Megan had passed out not long after Larry and Alan had left. She'd wanted to keep awake, but used-up adrenaline, blood loss, and painkillers had conspired to knock her out cold. He'd pulled the curtains around her bed, thinking that it would be more peaceful for her that way. Less light, maybe a little less noise from his restless pacing.

He walked back to the door and turned around, surveying the room. His eyes fell on Charlie, and he turned away. Crossing his arms, Don walked back to the chair he'd been using (placed between the beds and the door) and sat down. Out of habit, he picked up his phone to check for messages, forgetting that he'd had to turn the thing off in this part of the hospital. Colby and David had instructions to call this room if they had news, but the phone on the wall remained silent. He put his cell phone back on his belt.

He glanced at Charlie again, and then stood up and walked to the window again, checking the vantage points again. Unbidden, his mind kept repeating the mantra, "do the job, do the job," as if beating out a rhythm on a drum.

He really wished Colby and David would call.

He hated being stuck in this information blackout. He was used to being in the middle of an investigation. He'd known, though, that he wouldn't be able to work as effectively if he was worrying about Charlie and Megan. Besides, David and Colby were better at that sort of fiddly stuff than he was. He'd put himself on guard duty knowing that it was the most efficient use of resources, especially taking the personal component into account-

God, he sounded like Charlie.

Don sat down in the chair again, deliberately not looking at the still figure in the bed across from him. After a moment, he pulled himself back to his feet and walked to the door, looking over the room. He started to walk to the window (_do the job, do the job_) when he caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye. Before he'd even processed it consciously, Don turned to the movement, his body placed edge on towards it (_present a smaller target_), his hand on his gun.

Charlie raised his hand a little, and tried to swallow. Don started, and pulled his hand away from his weapon like he'd been burned. He moved to his brother's bed, placing himself automatically so that he had a vantage point on the door. "Charlie?" he said, uncertainly.

Don looked at his brother now, for the first time since he'd entered the room. His face was a little pale, but there was surprisingly little evidence there to show what he'd been through. Don's eyes traveled down, and there were the bandages over Charlie's shoulder and chest. Don found himself grateful that he hadn't had to see Charlie before he was treated. He may have been able to imagine Charlie lying in that pool of blood in vivid detail, but he didn't have to remember actually seeing it.

Charlie's eyelids fluttered open, and he coughed weakly. "Hey, buddy," Don said, trying to spare Charlie the effort of talking. "Hey. I'm here. You're gonna be fine, okay? The doctors patched you up. Uh-" What would Charlie want to know? "Dad and Larry are in the waiting room, but you can bet they'll be here as soon as they're allowed. Amita- Amita's downtown with Colby and David." Don paused, looking down. "Trying to find the woman who shot you, okay? She figured, since we were out our usual math consultant, we might have an opening." He was trying to keep his voice light, trying to keep joking.

"Students?" Charlie whispered, trying to clear his throat again.

"Huh?" It took Don a moment to process. "Oh, from your class? No, no. They were all fine. She- ah- didn't seem to be going after anyone else there." Charlie nodded, looking relieved. Don paused again, looking back at the door. _Do the job. Do the job._ "Look, I'll tell you more, later. But don't worry. We're going to get the woman who shot you. Everything's going to be okay now."

Charlie nodded again, whether in agreement or to some other purpose, Don wasn't sure. "I'm just going to call the nurse now, okay, Charlie?" Don continued. Charlie shrugged weakly, and Don reached over and smacked the button.

Don leaned in, conspiratorially. "Between you and me, I'm hoping it's the brunette this time," Don whispered into Charlie's ear, smiling.

* * *

Ronald Mercer, aged 28. Wanted for setting fire to a federal building. Killed when he started a shootout with federal agents and the crossfire ignited the flammable materials he was keeping in his storage unit. 

Nelson Tucker, aged 47. Wanted in connection with a series of assaults starting in Oklahoma. Killed jumping out of a window in an attempt to escape federal agents.

David Bryant, aged 35. Wanted for acts of domestic terrorism. Killed when he managed to detonate the explosive device he was wearing during a standoff.

Colby was starting to feel a bit depressed. His team's job was to bring in the bad guys with the evidence needed to make a prosecution stick. Any time they failed to do that counted as a loss- including times when they only managed to bring in the perp in a body bag.

He didn't regret their deaths, per se. Colby could certainly have said a thing or two about their value as human beings, most of them. Or, you know, lack thereof. It's just that it bothered him on a professional level. His team protected people, kept them safe; perpetrators as well as victims. By those standards, right now he was reliving his team's greatest failures.

To make it worse, he wasn't even finding anything. No accomplice deaths, no crazy sisters. Colby pushed back from the desk in frustration, rubbing his wounded shoulder gently. He'd already decided not to include cases where the team failed to save victims, and it wasn't even helping. His team worked a lot of cases in a year. This was taking forever, and Charlie and Megan might not have forever.

Moving back to his desk, he stopped looking for deaths in cases they'd worked, and called up Don's files instead. Specifically, he started searching the lists of people Don'd shot or killed. It occurred to him that he probably should have just done this from the start. He wasn't sure why he hadn't thought of it before- probably partly because Don had told him to check "our recent cases", and that meant the team.

Probably also because, ultimately, Colby didn't want this to be Don's fault. He knew his boss, and he knew that he'd carry this whole mess if he had the slightest reason to do so. He'd been hoping that the blame could be spread around, that the shooter's brother had really died of his own stupidity, or at least been killed by someone else on the team.

Colby began sorting through Don's history as an agent, starting with the most recent stuff (Don's kill on the Rheingold case, not a week past), and working backwards. It was still taking forever. Colby's shoulder throbbed, and he slid it back in the sling and switched to typing one handed for a while. He rolled his head around, trying to work out the kinks, and went back to his record searches.

Matthew Coleman, aged 32. Wanted for kidnapping and rape. Shot and killed by Special Agent Don Eppes six months ago after attempting to murder his hostage, a fifteen year old girl. Don had saved that girl's life, after Coleman had drawn a knife and declared that if he couldn't have her in peace, then no one else ever would.

What's more, Coleman had had a friend- almost a disciple. When they'd arrived at the site, he'd rushed them and been shot by somebody on SWAT.

Colby pulled his arm back out of the sling, his fingers flying over the keys. He searched through the documentation he had on Michael Coleman, looking for mentions of his family. He found a birth certificate, and checked the parents. There were death certificates, there. Both dead in an accident when Coleman would have been about seven, but no records of him being placed in the care of the state. Colby dug a little further.

And like that, he found it. A form, showing that Coleman was placed with his adult sister.

* * *

Colby pulled up everything he could find on the sister, and headed for the room where David and Amita were working. "Colby?" he heard Amita call. 

"Right here," he said, walking into the room with a stack of printouts in his off hand. The screens were covered with frozen scenes from various security cameras. He rubbed his shoulder absently. The damned thing hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. Really, he shouldn't have been typing with it.

"We got her!" Amita said, grinning proudly. "The algorithm worked beautifully! I mean, clearly, I had to make adjustments for the particular conditions- frequency, interference, angle-"

"Clearly," Colby put in drily.

"-but I found her at the parking garage, and the hospital, and CalSci, and at the right times. There's no way that's accidental." Amita looked down at her laptop, drumming her fingers impatiently along the sides of it. "That's her," Amita said, pointing at one of the screens. It showed a dumpy, middle-aged woman with short, curly, graying hair. Her expression was… driven, maybe. It was a weird look, anyhow. "I'm running some more recent footage now, to see if we can find out where she is."

Colby nodded at the screen. "Well," he said, slowly. "That's Dr. Evelyn Coleman, Associate Professor in the Philosophy department at CalSci. Don shot her brother six months ago. Look-" He held out a printed copy of E. Coleman's faculty ID, taken from CalSci personnel files. The hair was a little different, but it was clearly the same person.

"Good work," David said. "We better let Don know what we've found, now. He's probably going crazy over there."

Amita's computer started beeping. She jumped a little, and turned to it. "It's done running the analysis," she explained, messing with the controls of her program. "I had it looking specifically at the recent footage from the hospital, in case she's lurking around there again."

"So, what's the verdict?" Colby asked.

Amita froze suddenly. David reached for his phone. "What is it?" he asked, warily.

"She's there," Amita said. "Look- she's got herself dressed up like a nurse, and she's on Charlie's floor." She whirled around. "You've got to warn Don-"

David was already dialing. "Don't worry," Colby said, quietly, putting his hand on Amita's shoulder. "She's not going to be able to get past Don. She's never going to even get near them."


	13. Convergence

Evelyn Coleman had learned a very long time ago that the best way to get away with being somewhere you shouldn't is to act like you should. No one wants to confront a stranger and risk looking like an idiot. As long as you're careful not to cross the line from suspicious to dangerous, people are just as happy to leave you alone.

That in mind, she'd marched boldly into the hospital, her ID carelessly flipped backwards on its lanyard. She didn't want anyone who knew the real Jackie Perault to notice that her ID was attached to someone else. For everyone else, though, it ought to work well enough. She didn't really look much like the other woman, but it was a blurry, inch-square digital photo printed onto a plastic card. The fact that their hair and skin color were the same ought to be sufficient.

She hoped that the brother was still on the same floor as before; it would make things so much simpler. She'd decided to start with him and go for the FBI woman after. It was triage, really. She was only too cognizant of the fact that the odds were stacked against her being able to complete her whole mission. Eppes and his thugs would do all they could to keep her from bringing him to justice, and they weren't stupid. She was going to have to be smart and careful and, above all else, quick.

She entered the waiting room, and was relieved to see Fleinhardt and the father sitting there together. If they were still here, it was a good bet that Eppes' brother was too. She walked towards the nurse's station, trying not to call their attention to her. She doubted that Dr. Fleinhardt would recognize her- it's not like physicists descended into the depths of CalSci's liberal arts departments very often- but, best to be cautious.

Evelyn nodded to the woman at the desk. The woman looked up from her paperwork just long enough to run her eyes over Evelyn's scrubs and ID. She hit the button in front of her, and the doors swung open. Evelyn walked smoothly through, smiling to herself.

* * *

Charlie grumbled to himself. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to move. It particularly hurt to blow into this stupid tube, trying to make this stupid ball go up. He glared at the nurse. Don was right; she was pretty. She was also clearly an evil sadist, bent on tormenting him ceaselessly. Didn't she know he'd been shot? He ought to at least get sympathy, if not the chance to lie around like a fungus for a while. 

"Just like that," she said, smiling at him. "You need to blow on that about every five minutes while you're awake. You had a hole in your lung, and we've got to make sure you're still breathing right- otherwise you could get even sicker, okay?"

Charlie let out a heavy sigh, and winced. The nurse smiled at him ruefully. "How's your pain, honey? Do you need something? We should have someone bringing up a PCA pump soon so you can do your own pain meds, but your orders say I can give you something in the meantime, if you need it."

Well, maybe she wasn't a complete sadist. He let her give him another shot. Then she checked his vitals, making a note on his chart. "I'll see you a little later, Dr. Eppes," she said, cheerfully. "And keep blowing on that spirometer while I'm gone," she admonished, indicating the stupid ball tube thing. "Every five minutes. See if you can't get the ball up to this line," she said, pointing.

"What did I tell you?" Don said quietly, when she was gone. He was sitting in a chair near Charlie's bed, leaning back against the wall. He was putting on a show of being relaxed, but Charlie could see that his muscles were tense. Don was on alert. "If you had to end up here, at least we got you pretty nurses, huh?"

"Not as pretty as Amita," Charlie said, grumpily. He missed her. If she were here, she'd feel sorry for him, and rub his temples, and kiss him, and- Charlie chose not to continue that line of thought with Don in the room.

"Well, you got me there," Don said, grinning at him. "But you're keeping her all to yourself, so the rest of us have to look elsewhere."

"Why-" It hurt to talk, still. The shot of pain meds helped, but there was still something noticeably not right with his lungs. Charlie leaned his head back, and that hurt a little too. "If Dad's not allowed in, why are they letting you stay?"

"Ah-" Don said, and Charlie could see that look in his eyes. He was weighing the real reason in his mind, deciding whether or not it would upset a sick Charlie, and what the most plausible lie to protect him with might be.

"Don't lie to me, Don," Charlie snapped. "Dammit. Just tell me the truth. I'm not a delicate- delicate rosebud, or something," he finished lamely, and subsided into the bed. His head was swimming under the influence of the drugs. It occurred to him that he should probably blow into his hose thing again sometime soon.

"Hey," Don said, placatingly, "I'm just trying to look out for you, Buddy."

"Well, look out for me less, and talk to me more, okay?" Charlie shook his head, trying to shake the hair out of his eyes, and started scrabbling around for his spirometer with his good arm. Well, what passed for his good arm at the moment.

"Jesus, Charlie," Don's skin was paler than usual, and his mouth was set in a tight line. He reached for the spirometer and put it gently into Charlie's hand. "Do you have any idea what this is like for us? I went to the scene, you know, and there was this great big pool of blood there. They tell me it all came out of my little brother. So, yeah, excuse me if I'm feeling a little protective."

"Is that what you're doing here, Don? Protecting me?" Charlie was trying to start a fight, he realized, but he wasn't sure why. Don hadn't done anything to deserve Charlie being pissed at him. He tried to rein himself in. "Do you think the person who shot me is going to try again?" he said, in a more civil tone. Charlie wondered if he should feel frightened at the prospect. Mostly, he seemed to be feeling achy and fuzzy and tired. He'd heard that people felt euphoric under the influence of serious pain meds, but it didn't seem to be working on him.

"She shot Megan," Don said, quietly. "Didn't manage to kill her either, but it came pretty damned close." He glanced over at the curtains closing Megan's bed off from the rest of the room. "You better blow on your hose thingy there, Buddy. I don't want to have to guard you from pissed off nurses on top of everything else."

"But-" Charlie sighed, resigned, and put the end of the hose in his mouth. It hurt to blow, and it hurt to sigh, and it hurt to move his arm. Charlie hoped he could go be unconscious again sometime soon.

He was surprised when Don started talking again. "It's some kind of revenge thing, we think. She wants you and Megan dead, probably for something I did in a case." Don's voice was flat. "So, we've got an armed guard outside the room, and I'm inside. The rest of the team is downtown, like I said, working on finding her. In the meantime," Don growled, "if she wants either of you, she's going to have to go through me."

* * *

She ducked into an empty patient room, trying to calm herself down. At least it wasn't going to be difficult to figure out which room belonged to Dr. Eppes. She was pretty sure it was the one guarded by the armed and armored man with "FBI" emblazoned all over him. 

She'd known there would be a guard. It wouldn't have been justice if Eppes didn't care about his brother, the way she'd cared about her Mattie. Of course, he would worry that she was coming. Of course, he would do what he could to prevent it. Knowing hadn't really prepared her, though. She took stock of herself. Was she afraid? Had she gotten this far, only to be destroyed by fear? She hadn't been afraid when she'd shot the brother in the first place. She remembered standing in that room, that feeling of righteousness in the middle of the noise of the bullets.

Just remembering it made her feel calmer, more centered. She decided that what she'd been feeling wasn't fear after all: it was anticipation. She sneaked a look out at the guard. Was he patting nurses down? Probably not, but better to not try to get the gun past him. She didn't need it, anyway. It's not as though Dr. Eppes was going to fight back.

She untaped the gun from her side and dropped it in the bathroom waste bin. It would be discovered, but not in time. She watched from the room long enough to see a real nurse come and go. Good- less chance of her being discovered or interrupted. She steadied herself, put on her best harmless smile, and walked confidently towards the guard. "They warned me about you," she said, presenting Jackie Perault's ID. "I'm the next shift."

* * *

Charlie was asleep again. The brunette nurse (Kendra, maybe?) had been back to check on him. He hadn't even stirred as she'd taken his pulse and temp and checked on more intimate areas of his body. She'd made a reassuring comment to Don that it was normal and good for Charlie to sleep a lot now, and then she'd gone. Don had checked on Megan- a different nurse had been by for her a little while previous- and had found her still asleep. Don resumed his sitting. 

The door opened just as he was about to resume his pacing as well. Don flinched, spinning towards the noise, body tense. To be fair, of course, he'd flinched every time a nurse had come in to check on Charlie. Which had been, according to his watch, roughly every fifteen minutes for the last several hours. "Yes?" he snapped. It wasn't one of the nurses he recognized.

Seeing him, the nurse jumped, making a squeaking sound. She was a shortish woman with curly grey hair. She looked like someone's maiden aunt, Don reflected. "Oh," she said, relaxing a little, "You frightened me half to death. No one warned me that there was someone with the patient as well."

Don strode up to her, squinting at her ID. "I'm Agent Eppes. I'm in charge of security for these patients. You are?"

"Oh, I'm on the new shift. Jackie Perault- I like to check on all my patients right at the start of shift, just so I know how everyone is."

Don nodded. "Sorry. Don't mean to get in your way," he said. He kept watching her, though. The truth was that he absolutely did mean to be in her way. If he had what he wanted, no one but him would be getting anywhere near Charlie in the foreseeable future. He sighed. His rational brain knew that Charlie needed the real medical help that this woman, and the others before her, could provide. Furthermore, his rational brain knew that big-brother Don needed to take a step back, so Agent Eppes could keep a weather eye out for crazy masked women with guns.

"No problem," the woman said, cheerfully. She went over to Charlie's bed, and picked up his chart, studying it carefully. Then, she proceeded to start taking his vitals. Don had seen this dance before- every fifteen minutes for the last several hours, to be precise. There had even been a few different nurses doing it, between Charlie and Megan and a prior shift change. Each of the nurses had done it just a little bit differently, too.

So, why did this nurse's style look just a little bit… off to him? She looked up, and caught him staring. "How long has he been asleep, Agent Eppes?" she asked.

Just then, the phone on the wall began to ring. "Ah- just- that's going to be work," he said. "Just a moment."

* * *

She had expected the guard. She hadn't expected to find Eppes inside the room too. She'd thought he would be away somewhere, doing whatever it is Special Agents do in the middle of a case. When she saw him, she jumped, and made a noise. She babbled something meaningless as she tried to get control. 

Okay, she didn't have her gun. She didn't know where the FBI woman was. She was in the same room as Special Agent Don Eppes, the man who murdered her brother. This clearly presented a difficulty, but she still had the upper hand. The guard up front had fallen for her disguise, and Eppes seemed to be buying it as well.

She moved over to the brother and began reading his chart, trying to buy time. Eppes continued to stare at her. She really wished he wouldn't. She sighed. It occurred to her that if she checked the brother over, she could declare that he needed an injection of- pain meds, maybe? If she could disconnect some of the monitors without Eppes noticing, she might even be able to get out of the room and find the FBI woman before she got caught.

She smiled, and began checking the brother's pulse. She made a note in the chart. Gibberish, of course, but it had to look real to Eppes. She looked up at him. He was still staring at her, his eyes hard and suspicious. "How long has he been asleep, Agent Eppes?" she asked, sweetly, trying to distract him. Little old lady, she told herself. Just doing my job. Don't pay any attention.

Just then, the phone on the wall began to ring. "Ah- just- that's going to be work," Eppes said. "Just a moment."

Her heart raced again. Work might be nothing. Then again, work might be a warning- they'd found her. She weighed the possibilities quickly in her mind. Eppes might react to the sudden movement if she tried to inject the brother now. On the other hand, he might call for the armed guard- ah, well. Finishing this was the only important thing, and she didn't think he could stop her in time. Using the bed to hide it from his view, she surreptitiously took one of the syringes out of her pocket.

* * *

Don picked up the phone, and heard David's voice. "_She's in the hospital, Don. I've called LAPD, and they're on the way. Suspect is female, mid-50's, short curly grey hair, and disguised as a nurse-"_

Don looked at the woman across from him, and the world once again seemed to be moving in slow motion. She raised a syringe, and reached for Charlie's IV. He raised his gun. "FBI! Freeze!" he shouted, but it was just a delaying tactic. She was on the other side of Charlie's bed, and Megan was directly behind her. He simply didn't have a clear shot.

In the time it took him to process that fact, he was at Charlie's bed, reaching across him for the syringe in the woman's hand. She turned to him, her face twisted with loathing, and she pulled the syringe out of his reach. She made to stab it into Charlie's exposed chest.

Don tossed his gun out of the way- he needed his hands free right now. He went to grapple with the woman, but she managed to twist the needle away from his hands at the last moment. It missed Charlie, but it jammed into his left forearm. He jabbed his right arm quickly upward, catching the woman in the chest, and shoving her backward.

And then Don screamed. He looked, wide-eyed, at the syringe in his arm. Whatever she'd put in the syringe felt like fire, traveling up his arm and into his body. He pulled the syringe out and tossed it away. Gritting his teeth against the excruciating pain, he leaned against Charlie's bed and pulled himself around, staggering toward the woman. Gulping air into his lungs, he could see her fumbling in her pocket. "You can't save him from the hand of justice," she spat at him, pulling a second syringe out.

Don could feel his chest constricting, as though someone was crushing his heart in a vise. The burning was unbearably painful. He screamed again, against his will, and felt himself falling. He reached uselessly towards the woman and her syringe. "Charlie," he gasped. "So sorry…"

And then, somewhere above him, he heard a gunshot. He felt something warm spatter over him. The last thing he heard before he passed painfully into darkness was Megan's voice. "Aw, hell," she said.

* * *

**A/N: Okay, apparently I lied about not having a cliffhanger. This sucker is already like, two of my chapters long, though, so I'm making a break here. I promise I won't leave you hanging for too long. :)**


	14. Resolution

Agent Hayes heard someone scream. He tensed, and pushed the hospital room door open, trying to assess the situation before running in guns blazing- metaphorically or literally. Through the gap, he saw Agent Eppes stagger against Dr. Eppes' bed, clutching at his chest. The nurse was holding a syringe, and saying something he couldn't quite hear. In the time it took him to open the door and cross the room, Agent Eppes had already collapsed.

He leveled his gun at the nurse, hoping that he wouldn't have to try to shoot her. He wasn't at all sure he could miss all this equipment and both wounded. All three wounded, if Eppes was down.

As it turned out, he didn't have to. Agent Reeves pulled aside the curtains surrounding her bed, holding a service revolver in her good hand. Without saying anything, she simply shot the other woman in the knee. Reeves viciously kicked the syringe out of her hand, and the woman screamed, holding her hand. She turned, taking in the sight of Eppes lying on the floor. "Aw, hell," she said, and punched the call button. "Get someone in here!" she shouted to Hayes, looking up. He opened the door. "We need help in here! he shouted. Man down!"

When he turned back to the room, he saw the fake nurse moving weakly towards something he couldn't see. "Reeves!" he called, pointing. She'd been checking Agent Eppes. There was a frantic look on her face as she tried to find a pulse. She didn't seem to be having much luck.

Agent Reeves looked over at the nurse. She punched the woman's injured knee once. The woman screamed and stopped moving. Reeves snarled at her. "A wound for a wound, right? Stay down, or, so help me god, I will shoot you in the head." She turned back to him briefly.

Hayes was already on Agent Eppes. No pulse. He tossed his cuffs to Reeves and started chest compressions. He could hear movement above him, but he ignored it. "Don?" he heard a voice call. "Donnie? Oh, god, Donnie?" The voice was frantic, but he ignored it and focused on trying to get Agent Eppes' heart going again.

It was only moments later that a crowd of nurses and doctors flooded into the room, followed by a bunch of LAPD officers.

* * *

Charlie and Megan's room was a madhouse when David, Colby and Amita arrived. David pushed through, holding up his badge. The first thing he noticed was Charlie, skin shock-white and eyes wild, screaming and trying to get free of his hospital bed. Two nurses were trying to hold him down. Charlie's bed had been pushed to one side, and there was a swarm of medical personnel in the middle.

The second thing he noticed was Don, on the ground in the middle of that swarm. David just barely caught a glimpse of him, but he could see that they had Don's shirt open, and that he was unconscious. He swore under his breath.

The third thing he noticed was the sound of someone laughing hysterically. In the middle of a second swarm, he saw Dr. Evelyn Coleman, lying in a pool of blood. "I got you, Eppes!" she screamed, still laughing. "The universe cries out for balance, Eppes! You saved your brother, so it took you!"

Charlie suddenly slumped, sobbing, back onto his bed. David assumed that whatever tranq they'd given him had finally taken effect. The nurses looked at each other, sighing their relief, and proceeded to check to make sure that Charlie hadn't hurt himself struggling.

The fourth thing he noticed was Megan, off to the side of the room, sitting, leaning against the wall. There was a gun in her hand, and blood on her legs and hospital gown. He hurried to her side. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Amita going to Charlie and Colby joining another agent guarding over Coleman. Kneeling down, he checked Megan quickly for additional wounds.

"It's not mine," she told him, referring to the blood. "All hers. Don's screaming woke me up, and then I found his gun on the floor next to my bed."

"What happened?" he said. She looked a little shocky. He took her wrist, checking her pulse and her skin temperature.

"I'm alright," she said, drily, taking note of what he was doing. "Just really, really tired. I'm not sure what really happened. I was asleep, and then Don was screaming. I guess she'd managed to inject him with whatever was in that syringe already, and she was talking about that 'justice' stuff again, and she was about to inject Charlie with a syringe. I knew it was her, so I picked up Don's gun and shot her in the knee. I knew he'd be pissed if I let her get away. And then I saw that he was down, with his heart stopped." She closed her eyes. "Hayes there had to do CPR," she pointed at the other agent over by Coleman. "It took them forever to get him started again, but they finally did. Poor Charlie just flipped out, when they couldn't get him going at first. I tried to help, but after he punched me, the nurses told me to keep out of the way."

"Yeah, well," David said, smiling at her, "I think you did enough." He looked around the room. They seemed to be working on transporting Don and Coleman elsewhere. "We'll take it from here, okay?"

* * *

"She was a philosophy professor at CalSci," Colby said, wryly. "She had a history of some pretty serious mental illness, and we think she just snapped when her brother died. They found all kinds of weird stuff in her apartment: clippings about Don and Charlie the team, plans for the attacks. Pages and pages of handwritten ranting about balance and justice and the law. Plus, a disturbing quantity of rope. I'm not sure what that was about."

He was sitting next to Charlie's bed. Megan was sitting in a chair next to him, and Amita was sitting on the bed, curled up next to Charlie, her hands running through his hair.

"She had concentrated potassium chloride in the syringes," he continued. "That stuff hurts like a bitch." He shuddered. He would know. "And it took something like 45 seconds to stop Don's heart. Him and Charlie are both pretty lucky that you're such a good shot, Megan."

"He's right, Megan," Charlie said, shakily. He was officially stable, but still pretty weak. "I'm really sorry I hit you, back there."

"It's okay, Charlie," Megan said, gently. "Between the painkillers, and Don- you weren't yourself. Besides-" she grinned at him. "It's not like it hurt. You hit like a girl, Dr. Eppes."

"Hey-" he protested, but Amita kissed him fondly, and then he wasn't thinking about Megan anymore. He heard laughter from the others. He ignored it.

* * *

Don came awake feeling as though he'd just been hit in the chest with a truck. He groaned, opening his eyes. The first thing he saw was Charlie, lying in a hospital bed, looking at him intently. Why was Charlie lying in a hospital bed?

Suddenly, it came rushing back. Charlie, in surgery. A pool of blood. Megan, and a woman in a hoodie and mask. A syringe, about to plunge into Charlie's naked chest. "Are you okay, Chuck?" he croaked. "You're okay, right?"

Charlie laughed. "You're the one who almost died just now, Don," He said, quietly. "And don't call me Chuck."

"You must be okay, then," Don said, laughing weakly.

"Well, I still got shot twice," Charlie complained. "And they're still making me blow in the hose. I asked them if you'd get to do the hose thing too, but they said not. I told them it wasn't fair, but they didn't listen to me."

"Did they get her?" Don asked. "She was going to- with the syringe-" Don stopped for a moment. "I couldn't stop her-"

"Megan shot her," Charlie told him. "You woke her up, and she found your gun, and she shot her in the knee and then sat on her."

"Megan," Don said, thoughtfully, "is a badass."

"It's true," Charlie said. After a moment, he spoke again. "I don't know exactly what happened back there, Don, but-" he ground to a halt, as if he wasn't sure what words should come next.

"Just doing my job, Buddy," Don said. "Do you think Kendra will be coming back?" he asked, grinning. "I might need my vitals checked."

Charlie rolled his eyes. "Nope," he said. "It'll be just me and Kendra, while you get to go home with dad and eat green gelatin."

Don laughed, and it made his ribs hurt. "God, it's good to see you," he said. "There was a moment there, when I thought- maybe-"

"Me too," Charlie said, quietly. "But I knew you'd come through for me. I just wish you could have managed to break fewer ribs doing it."

Don smiled. "I'm going to agree with you on that one, Chuck," he said.

* * *

**A/N: Well, there's that monkey off my back. I hope you've enjoyed it! **

**I don't know how much more Numb3rs fiction I'm going to write- it seems to require me to know all kinds of things about law enforcement and mathematics and medicine that I don't know. Hopefully I haven't buggered any of that stuff up too badly at any point in this first foray. It's been fun writing this, though, and I've been glad to see that others have found it entertaining as well.**


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